


Considering Conditions

by LeCadavre_1904



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Bottom Bruce Wayne, Bruce Wayne Has Issues, Clark Kent is a Saint, M/M, Top Clark Kent, What else is new?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:53:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29467551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeCadavre_1904/pseuds/LeCadavre_1904
Summary: Before Bruce and Clark fall into bed for the first time, Bruce has an unusual condition.Clark is as obliging as always.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 18
Kudos: 219





	Considering Conditions

As it turned out, it took longer than Clark had expected to get Bruce into bed with him.

Okay, that sounds bad. It’s just that Bruce Wayne—not just Brucie, but _Bruce_ —has a reputation. He doesn’t exactly play hard to get, not when he sees something he wants. When Clark finally worked up the courage to tell him that he… well that, he… you know, had feelings about… uh, was interested in… that is, if _Bruce_ was…

The less said about his confession, the better, perhaps.

He thought he had an equal chance of Bruce kicking his ass and Bruce laughing him out of the Cave. What he did not expect was for Bruce to simply set his tools down, walk over to Clark, and kiss him.

If Clark had maybe suspected Bruce would be ready to just fall into bed after that, he was mistaken. He could admit that to himself. And he was fine with that. More than fine, actually. In truth, it was a little bit of a relief—Clark himself liked to take time to build up to that important moment, to court a little first. Besides, he didn’t want there to be any hesitation on his partner’s part. He didn’t just want his partner to say, “yes,” he wanted his partner to say, “fuck yes, give it to me, please, I can’t wait anymore.”

So, Clark was content to wait, if that’s what Bruce wanted.

And when Bruce finally made the move, invited Clark to his penthouse in the city and then, after dinner, to his bedroom just beyond, well. Clark was alright with that, too.

It’s just that there was something… off. There was a tightness around Bruce’s eyes. More than that, it was a tightness he was attempting to cover up. That was unlike Bruce, at least around Clark. Bruce didn’t worry so much about the things Clark saw in his face, his body anymore. It had been a long time since that was his concern. But the way he was playing at being cavalier foretold trouble. Only, what was the trouble, exactly?

Bruce had led Clark into his room to stand next to his bed. He faced Clark head on, finally taking off his pasted-on smile and letting a certain grimness overtake his features. That, at least, was the Bruce that Clark knew. He could deal with anything else, so long as Bruce was no longer pretending.

“I have a condition,” said Bruce.

“I accept your condition,” replied Clark.

Bruce’s brow furrowed a little in annoyance. “I haven’t said what it is yet.”

“Bruce. I would do anything—goddamn _anything_ —to be with you.”

Bruce crossed his arms in front of his chest, a familiar scowl taking its rightful place on his lips. But Clark noticed that he’d relaxed, just slightly. “If I were to tell you that I’ll never let you fuck me? Would you still accept my condition then?”

“Without question,” said Clark, keeping his gaze on Bruce’s face.

“If I told you I want to wear a dog mask and you need to whip me with a cat o’ nine tails?”

“It’d take a lot more than that to scare me off.”

“If I…”

“Bruce,” said Clark, unable to keep the smile twitching onto his lips. “I want you. Whatever form that wanting takes, the simple truth of it will remain. You’re important to me, and your comfort and needs are my priority. Okay?”

Bruce looked, for a moment, like he was going to protest, but then his lips snapped shut. He nodded, a little jerkily, before turning around to take something from the ornate nightstand next to the bed.

Clark meant what he said, every word of it, but he couldn’t help feeling a little apprehensive about what item Bruce was going to produce. Maybe a full latex suit, and he’d want Clark locked in it the whole time, or one of those vacuum-seal things Clark had accidentally (“accidentally”) stumbled across in a dirty video once. Or maybe…

Then Bruce turned around, and in his hands, he held a ball gag.

Inwardly, Clark breathed a sigh of relief. Trust Bruce to be so dramatic over something so minor. Clark could work with gags.

“Does it have kryptonite in it?” Clark asked.

Bruce reared back as though Clark had hit him. “I mean blue K,” Clark clarified. “I would never think you’d use green K recreationally.”

For a moment, Bruce looked at a loss for words. Then, he sighed and shook his head. “No. It’s… not for you.”

Oh. On reflection, that shouldn’t be a surprise. Bruce spent most of his time decked out in leather and Kevlar, for fuck’s sake. The real surprise is that Bruce didn’t have something more intense in store for them. Although if he did… Clark could feel a stirring deep in his gut. Maybe, you know, that wouldn’t be so bad.

He realized Bruce was still looking at him, as though waiting for an answer of some sort.

“That’s fine with me,” he said with a slight shrug. He still felt like he was missing something, but he would just have to trust Bruce and hope he came to the truth of the matter at Bruce’s pace. “But I need a way to make sure you’re okay.”

Bruce cocked his head to the side, so Clark clarified. “If you want to stop or need to slow down, or… anything, really, I need you to be able to do that.”

Bruce was just looking at him now, like Clark was an alien. (Bad choice of words.) Like Clark had said something in a foreign language, one of the few languages Bruce didn’t already know. Then, Bruce stepped forward and took Clark’s hand. “One squeeze means everything is fine. Two squeezes means I need you to slow down. Three squeezes means to stop.”

“And four squeezes if you want the ball gag removed?”

A strange look passed in Bruce’s eyes before vanishing. “I won’t want it taken off. And anyway, my hands will be free—I’ll take it off myself when the time comes.”

Clark could work with that.

The tension had come back into Bruce’s frame and he stood there, looking uncertain. This was hard for him, Clark suddenly realized. For whatever reason, this made him feel vulnerable. Clark might not understand it, but he could empathize.

Clark stepped forward and took the gag from Bruce’s hand. He unbuckled it and held it up to Bruce’s face. “Okay?” he asked.

Bruce met his eyes and nodded. He let his gaze flick to the side as he opened his mouth, and if that sight didn’t make Clark just a little harder.

He was gentle and perhaps overly careful as he inserted the gag into Bruce’s mouth. He moved to stand behind him as he buckled it around the back of his head, careful not to catch his hair in the process.

The gag itself was supple leather, high-quality. Not something Bruce had found at a novelty store—probably something he’d made himself. The ball wasn’t red, as Clark would have expected, but pitch black. It fit perfectly in Bruce’s mouth, further convincing Clark it was custom-made. When the gag was in place and he moved to stand in front of Bruce again, his lips were hugging the ball, his jaw stretched just so, and he was looking at Clark with a touch of apprehension that was quickly being swallowed by desire.

Clark would never be sure what prompted him in that moment, to lean forward and place a kiss on the ball between Bruce’s lips. Intuition, perhaps, and as a reporter, he wasn’t given to ignoring a hunch when he had it.

He probably looked absurd, kissing the rubber ball, but when he pulled back he saw that Bruce’s cheeks had flushed, could tell his breathing had picked up even without the use of his powers of perception. He made a mental note of that before continuing.

He reached out and traced his fingers up and down the button-up shirt Bruce had worn for their dinner. He felt his fingertip catch on Bruce’s nipple, saw how Bruce’s gaze darkened at that. Made his way for the buttons, unfastening them almost languidly, watching as that beautiful, perfect skin was revealed. Once the line of buttons was free, he reached up, letting his hands linger on Bruce’s shoulders for a moment before pushing the shirt down his arms and letting it flutter to the floor.

He wasn’t expecting Bruce to reach up and begin pulling at his own clothes, his hands rougher with the buttons, his impatience showing. Unconsciously, Clark had associated the gag with submission, but it was clear that wasn’t the game here. And Bruce wanted him to know it, he realized, as Bruce’s sharp eyes met his. This was about something else. And, really, he should’ve expected that—when had he known Bruce to submit to _anything_ , much less be a passive participant? Clark smiled and shook his head at himself as he reached for Bruce’s belt, unfastening it and pulling it off as Bruce got his hands in Clark’s unbuttoned slacks.

Bruce’s fingers brushed against Clark’s cock and he had to suck in a breath, try to calm himself down, because _oh God._ He’d thought about this, endlessly, even before he’d realized how deep his feelings for Bruce ran. Had fantasized about what it would finally feel like to get Bruce’s hand on him, to feel him exploring his length, feel the calluses scraping against his skin.

Bruce saw, of course Bruce saw, and shifted to take Clark more firmly in hand.

Clark sucked in a breath. It… oh God, it felt better than he could have imagined, the rough ridges of Bruce’s thumb tracing the tip of his head, the firm grip he had on his length. Bruce shifted his grip down to the base of Clark’s cock, letting go just briefly to take his balls in hand.

It took a strength of will Clark didn’t know he had, to pull his brain back into working order and get his ass back in gear. He unbuttoned Bruce’s slacks, pushing them down until they were beneath his ass. Then letting his hands roam, feeling how firm and round he was. God, his ass was perfect. In his fantasies, after Bruce had played with Clark’s dick, he’d turn around, show him his ass, look over his shoulders and ask him, _well, now that you’ve got it, what are you going to do with it?_

Clark swallowed hard. Bruce traced a fingertip up the vein on the underside of his cock.

Clark couldn’t help himself. He gripped Bruce’s ass harder— _too hard? Shit, he’s going to bruise_ —but he couldn’t seem to make himself let go. He used his grip to shove Bruce up against him, grinding on that gorgeous, hard body. Bruce had let go of his cock, was just holding on for the ride now, and Clark was pretty sure if he kept going like this, things were going to end before they really even started and wouldn’t that just be a shame?

He forced his grip to loosen, give Bruce more room to breathe, but Bruce shoved his ass back into Clark’s hand, like Clark’s grip had driven him wild, like he wanted Clark to paint his skin with black and blue finger marks.

_Well, that can be arranged,_ Clark thought as he tightened his grip and used it to hoist Bruce off the ground. Bruce’s legs wrapped around Clark’s on instinct as Clark turned and set him down—a little less gently than he might’ve—on the bed.

The look of outrage on Bruce’s face was too much, and Clark burst into laughter. He took Bruce’s hand in his own and said, “Okay?”

Bruce glared up at him, but with the gag in his mouth, there wasn’t much he could say. In a way, the gag made things simpler—so often, what Bruce said wasn’t what he meant. His relationship with communication wasn’t what Clark would call healthy, but hey, who was he to judge?

In this simple method of communication, Bruce had to be honest. And he was. He squeezed Clark’s hand once and seemed entirely unaware of the flush painting his cheeks. _God… you’re so gorgeous,_ Clark wanted to say. And then realized he could.

“God, you’re so gorgeous.”

Bruce’s flush grew deeper. Clark kissed him on the cheek before moving down his body.

Clark had seen Bruce naked before—pretty much everyone on their team had. In the locker rooms, the med bay… when you’re a team of superheroes fighting intergalactic villains, the nudity thing comes up more often than you might think.

But seeing Bruce like this: his face and chest flushed and sheened with sweat, his scars standing out in stark relief against his skin, his legs tangled in the pants Clark had only half removed… it was like seeing Bruce again for the first time.

_And he’s all for me,_ came that voice deep inside Clark, the one that welled up from his fierce streak of possessiveness that he’d spent years trying to blunt. When you can quite literally, physically take what you want at any time, it’s all the more important to keep careful control on possessive and obsessive tendencies.

But wasn’t Bruce offering himself up for it? Of all people, Bruce knew him the best—his faults, his struggles, the parts of himself he strove to hide from the world. And still he lay, his eyes saying _take me_ when his mouth would not.

So, Clark didn’t hold himself back. He traced the scars on Bruce’s arms and torso, licked at the dips and valleys in his chest. He took his time playing with the other man’s nipples, and wasn’t that interesting—Bruce was far more sensitive there than Clark would have guessed.

And that’s where it started.

Clark had let his hands move away from Bruce’s pecs, begun mouthing at his abs—god, those abs were unreal—and let Bruce think he was done playing with those dusky nipples. His ruse was well-engineered, and Bruce was clearly surprised when Clark surged back up to take Bruce’s right nipple in his mouth.

And Bruce…

There’s no better word for it. Bruce moaned.

It was a sound unlike any Clark had ever heard. It was raw, pulled from deep in Bruce’s chest, rough-edged and uncontrolled. It was so much more than a moan but Clark, for all his writing prowess, couldn’t think of any better way to describe it. When it came to Bruce, Clark found the English language was often lacking.

Bruce seemed to become aware of his vocalization a few moments after Clark did. His eyes flew open and the red on his cheeks deepened, but not in a way Clark liked. Bruce was embarrassed. Bruce was _humiliated._

And that’s when Clark connected the dots. _Oh._

“God, sweetheart,” Clark groaned, rising back up Bruce’s body to rub his length against Bruce’s. “That was so hot, you’ve got me so hard. Will you moan for me again?”

Clark watched Bruce’s response closely. Some of that hauntingly vulnerable look left his eye, but in its place, had come the firm set of stubbornness that Clark knew so well. He met Clark’s eyes with grim determination, a look that said, _in your dreams._

Clark grinned. He could work with that.

“Before tonight’s over,” he whispered in Bruce’s ear, grinding their hips together about as hard as he dared, “You won’t just moan for me. You’ll _scream._ ”

He didn’t give Bruce a moment to think about what he’d said. In a flash (there may or may not have been some inappropriately-used super speed), he was eye-level with Bruce’s cock, it’s purpling head straining for some kind of relief.

Clark could tease. He could tongue Bruce’s slit, rub the head across his lips, lick up from the base slowly, languidly.

But Clark had a hunch, and Clark with a hunch spelled danger. Without giving Bruce a moment to prepare, he swallowed Bruce down to the root and began to roll his balls in his fingers.

The sound Bruce made was almost distressed, but for that edge of want Clark could hear so clearly.

Bruce’s fingers found his shoulders and dug into his skin. Clark could feel one of his nails breaking as his grip tightened, his legs struggling to twist out of the impromptu bondage of his pants. That was interesting—Clark pressed his tongue just under the head of Bruce’s cock as he wrapped an invulnerable arm around Bruce’s legs, pinning him quite securely in place.

Bruce bucked in his grip, tossed his head back and forth. Clark watched in fascination as Bruce fought hard to keep control over his body… and failed. Bruce didn’t even seem to notice that his groans had grown louder, taken on a frantic edge. Clark could feel the jump and pulse of Bruce’s cock, knew what was coming, and sucked him down again, pulling him deep into his throat.

He used a touch—just the tiniest bit—of his ice breath, and Bruce was gone.

He writhed, twisted, shouted into his gag, and came in heavy thick spurts down Clark’s open throat.

Clark was almost sorry he swallowed so quickly—he wanted to taste Bruce again, to keep his flavor on his tongue until he had it memorized. But… well. He planned to take Bruce down his throat many, _many_ more times. He had time. He could be patient.

Bruce’s entire body had relaxed into the bed after his orgasm. He lay there panting, his eyes lidded close to shut, his hands twisted in the sheets near his head. He didn’t resist as Clark finally pulled his pants off, then stroked his thighs gently as he waited for him to come back down.

One Bruce’s brain was back online, Clark reached over to the nightstand where Bruce had left a bottle of lube. He parted Bruce’s thighs and settled himself between them, generously lubing up the fingers on his right hand.

He brought his hand down to tease Bruce’s tight whorl. At the same time, he clasped his left hand with Bruce’s right, looked him directly in the eyes and said, “Is this okay?”

There was a long pause, long enough that Clark took his fingers away from Bruce’s entrance and waited. Finally, Bruce gave one long squeeze, then let his hand drop to the bed. His heart was rabbiting in his chest. Clark leaned down to nuzzle against his cheek, letting his finger return to stroke Bruce’s hole gently, waiting for him to relax.

He took his time, feeling the give in Bruce’s body, letting his fingers tease Bruce’s rim. Bruce shuddered and let his legs fall open even wider—and wasn’t that a sight to see. Never let it be said that Bruce wasn’t flexible. As he stroked and pulled and dipped his fingertips inside, Bruce wormed his hand down between their bodies and resumed stroking Clark, wrapping his hand around his thickness as though measuring it. Bruce’s fingers could barely reach around Clark’s dick. Bruce looked up at his lover and let an eyebrow quirk, which Clark was able to read perfectly.

Clark laughed and kissed Bruce on the nose, enjoying his unimpressed glare. “Don’t worry—I’ll make sure you’re ready for me, sweetheart.”

He added the endearment to make Bruce laugh, or maybe huff and roll his eyes, but that didn’t happen. Bruce’s eyes widened just fractionally, such that only Clark would have been able to notice it, and that deep blush bloomed again in his cheeks.

Oh.

“Do you like it when I call you that? Sweetheart?”

Oh, _now_ Bruce was glaring at him. Bruce didn’t like things to be stated so plainly. Too bad for him that he wasn’t in charge here. He wasn’t in charge because he’d let Clark take charge, and Clark was going to take full advantage of that.

He leaned down to speak directly in Bruce’s ear. “You’re so gorgeous, darling. So perfect for me. And you know something?”

Bruce was struggling to keep his breathing deep and even.

“I bet that hole is just as perfect as the rest of you. Should I check to make sure, do you think?”

He didn’t wait for an answer as he pushed Bruce’s thighs up and apart and sank down between his legs. The look in Bruce’s eyes was _wild,_ like he wasn’t sure if he was going to hit Clark or kiss him.

Clark brought his hands to Bruce’s ass, lifted him off the bed like he weighed nothing, and used his thumbs to spread open Bruce’s crease.

Clark had to suck in a breath and wait one, two, three moments before he was certain he could remain under control. His dick was a little less patient than the rest of him, and it was all he could do not to cum right then and there as he looked at the most hidden place in Bruce’s body.

His furl was winking at him, opening and closing as Bruce’s muscles involuntarily contracted. His hole was as red and flushed as his cheeks, had bloomed under Clark’s careful attentions. It looked like a beautiful flower waiting to be plucked.

The look on Bruce’s face was equal parts mortification and dark desire. Clark looked him square in the eye, refusing to let him hide.

“Baby, you’re so beautiful down here. Your pretty little hole is so red for me…” And as his eyes slid back down to that gorgeous hole, he couldn’t help himself—he had to lean forward and taste it.

Bruce jolted and whined behind his gag as Clark licked into him. If Clark thought Bruce’s cum tasted divine, he wasn’t sure what to make of this—he just knew he couldn’t get enough.

He lost track of time as his tongue slowly worked Bruce open, pushing further and further inside him. Bruce’s hole clung around his tongue, clenching involuntarily to try to keep him inside. And how could Clark do anything but oblige? If Clark was anything, he was eminently reasonable. He let his tongue spear deep inside Bruce, and once he was as far as he could go, he let Bruce feel what super speed could make his tongue do.

Bruce shook and thrashed like he’d been electrocuted, his whines becoming something more like shrieks. Even behind the gag, Bruce was loud—Clark took a moment to imagine what he would sound like with the gag off. Clark had to grab at the base of his cock to stop himself from cumming. He wanted to hear that, wanted to hear Bruce’s voice even if they’d end up with a score of noise complaints.

But maybe they wouldn’t have to. Clark wondered if Bruce would ever consider making use of the rooms deep inside the Batcave, where the soundproofing was top of the line. A thought for another time, he decided, as Bruce finally pushed him away from his ass with force that told Clark he’d better do as directed.

As soon as Clark’s tongue was back in his mouth, Bruce was on his hands and knees, so fast Clark had to wonder if he was really the only one in the room with super speed. His shoulders were on the bed, tilting his ass up for Clark’s use. As if that weren’t enough, he reached behind and pulled apart his cheeks. He was looking over his shoulder at Clark, the furious intensity in his eyes a blatant challenge, and Clark didn’t need to remove his gag to hear it. _You think you can make me lose it? Then get off your ass and_ prove it.

One generous handful of lube later, and Clark had positioned the head of his cock against Bruce’s red, winking hole. Bruce was still looking back at him, that challenge in his eyes, and Clark thought to himself, _well, if you insist._

The first push inside was indescribable.

Clark had had sex before. Plenty of it, probably more than Bruce would’ve guessed, and a significant percentage of that sex had been with other men. He knew was it was like to sink inside a hot, tight ass and feel it clenching around him, milking him for all it was worth. But nothing could have prepared him for sinking into Bruce, feeling all that carefully controlled muscle seizing around him and desperately drawing him deeper, watching Bruce’s spine lengthen as he arched into Clark’s thrust, his body reacting to Clark’s even as his eyes clouded over.

Clark worked his way inside Bruce with short thrusts designed to loosen him all the way through. Bruce had put his head down to the pillow, his face turned to the side so Clark could watch the furrow in his brow as his body strained to accommodate Clark’s girth. Clark could feel Bruce struggling to bring his body under control, and he couldn’t have that. He shifted the angle of his hips just slightly, explored with sharp little thrusts until he found what he was looking for.

Bruce’s eyes shot open, then rolled in his head as he shouted into his gag. His hands fisted in the sheets as he canted his hips back to meet Clark thrust for thrust.

It had been long enough that Bruce was hard again. Clark reached down to take his cock in hand, stroking firmly with slick fingers, playing with the sensitive head. That drove Bruce wild—his lips were loose around the gag, now, with a thin stream of drool leaking from the corner of his mouth. His eyes were half-lidded and unfocused, misted with a sheen of tears that he was in no state of mind to notice. As much as Clark was fucking him, he was fucking Clark right back, pushing himself to take Clark’s cock further and further into his body, to press up right against that sweet spot inside him that had them both seeing stars.

Clark thought he could stay here, on his knees, fucking Bruce forever. Just pushing his fat, needy cock in Bruce’s hungry hole over and over again for the rest of time…

On second thought, maybe not forever. Because he could feel his orgasm building, pulled from deep in his guts, making his heart flutter and his thrusts frantic.

“Sweetheart,” he groaned and Bruce moaned in response, “I’m gonna cum. You close, sweetheart?” He sped up his fist so it was flying up and down Bruce’s length, feeling the leap and pulse of his cock and Bruce neared his own edge. “You gonna spray all over the bed for me, make a dirty little mess? I can’t wait to see you covered in my cum, sweetheart, gonna get you wet with me, gonna make you smell like me…”

And that was all Bruce could take. He screamed into his gag, so loud Clark thought the neighbors would certainly hear, but it was too late to care because oh, shit, fuck, Christ… he was coming, too, spurting deep inside Bruce where he’d stay for days, and Bruce would be able to feel him, Clark was sure of it, the soreness in his muscles, the wetness inside of him, oh _fuck._

It seemed to take ages for Clark to finish coming—probably to Bruce as well, since the length of a Kryptonian orgasm is roughly twice that of a human’s—and by the time he was done, Bruce was boneless underneath him, the flush in his cheeks faded to a pretty pink glow, his hands opening and closing in the sheets below him.

Clark stayed there for a few moments, his thick, softening dick still plugging Bruce’s hole as his cum worked further inside him, soaking into his insides. Clark sensed the moment Bruce was becoming truly uncomfortable and pulled out as gently as he could, though Bruce still moaned at the feeling, screwing his eyes shut tight.

Clark didn’t remove the gag right away—he remembered what Bruce had said, about being able to remove it himself if he wanted, and considered that Bruce might still want it as he came down from the intensity of feeling he’d just experienced. Instead, he laid Bruce down on his side, careful to keep him out of the wet spot on the sheets as he went to the ensuite and ran a warm washcloth. When he came back, Bruce’s eyes were closed and he was completely relaxed into the bed, though still not asleep.

Clark took his time cleaning Bruce thoroughly, wiping all Clark’s leaking cum from between his legs. Anything that hadn’t leaked out by the end of _that,_ he thought, was staying inside Bruce, and if that thought didn’t make his cock twitch a little in revived interest.

He wiped down the rest of Bruce’s body, assuming he wouldn’t be in any state to shower for a while yet, and then removed the soiled sheets from under him. That done, he crawled into the bed next to Bruce and took him in his arms. He thought there was an equal chance that Bruce’s feelings of embarrassment would overtake him and he’d shove Clark away, but it was a chance Clark was more than willing to take. It looked like Bruce’s afterglow would last a little longer as he burrowed further into Clark’s arms, letting the other man fully encircle him.

It felt like it had been hours since they’d entered this room, each second stretching into eternity, and Clark knew Bruce’s mouth must be sore from being stretched around the gag for so long. Still, he wasn’t interested in doing anything without Bruce’s explicit permission. So, he fingered the back of the gag as he asked, “Would you like me to take this off?”

Instantly, Bruce shook his head and burrowed deeper into Clark’s arms. _Well, that settles that._ Clark was content to wait. Until, of course, Bruce’s breathing evened out and he dropped into a deep sleep.

Clark considered for a moment, then shrugged. It wouldn’t be good for Bruce’s jaw, to sleep with that in, and he definitely wouldn’t like how sore his mouth was in the morning. Clark reached up and unbuckled the gag, placing it gently on the nightstand, before returning to take Bruce more securely in his arms.

As he drifted off to sleep, he couldn’t help but wish he could hear Bruce’s unbridled noises. Each gasp, whine, moan, and shout. Clark was a possessive man, and more than that, he was a greedy one—he wanted all of Bruce to himself, even (especially?) the pieces of Bruce that were the most vulnerable. He didn’t care if the entire city heard Bruce enjoying himself so thoroughly.

Actually, he thought as his cock throbbed, that wouldn’t be so bad _at all._

* * *

“You took my gag out.”

Clark was a morning person. Bruce was, for obvious reasons, a night owl. So why was it that Bruce was awake and coherent before Clark? Clark groaned a little and considered burrowing under the covers, but something about what Bruce said felt important, so instead he swum to the surface of wakefulness.

Blinking his eyes open, he saw Bruce staring across the pillows at him, his gaze thoughtful. Clark’s brain caught up with what he said, and he felt a small spike of anxiety.

He considered apologizing for doing it, but he knew that apologies for things he didn’t actually feel sorry about wouldn’t get him anywhere. So, instead, he shrugged and told the truth. “I didn’t want it to hurt in the morning.”

Bruce grunted, noncommittal. “So you understand, now. Why I have it.”

Clark considered his next words _very_ carefully, because yes, he wanted to be honest, but he also wanted to be invited back into Bruce’s bed again. At any cost. “I understand why you think you need it.”

Bruce’s gaze sharpened on him. “I have no desire to disturb all of Gotham with my…” Here he fumbled, uncharacteristically, for a way to finish the sentence.

“…desires?” Bruce probably didn’t realize he was flushing a little as Clark grinned at him. “Bruce. The sounds you made last night… I’ve never heard something so beautiful. So perfect. _You_ are perfect. And if you need that gag to make you feel comfortable, I would never dream of telling you not to wear it. But sweetheart, I hope you know you don’t need to do that with me. You don’t need to hide yourself. Maybe it’s selfish, but I want all of you. Every last bit.”

Bruce opened his mouth, closed it. Looked away from Clark’s gaze.

“Although, maybe it’s best that you left it in,” Clark mused.

Bruce’s startled eyes met his, a bit of that shame creeping back in, and Clark put an end to that firmly. “As hot as it gets me to think that all of Gotham would know what I do to you, well. I’m a bit possessive. And I don’t want anyone to experience the joy of hearing you but me. And besides, that first time you moaned… if it hadn’t been muffled by that gag, I think the night would’ve gone a lot, er, quicker for me than I intended.”

Bruce just stared at him for a moment, long enough that Clark wondered if he’d offended him. And then, inexplicably, wonderfully, Bruce broke out into peals of laughter. Clark might’ve been offended if it wasn’t so amazing, watching Bruce hug his sides, a smile stretching his face like Clark had never seen before.

Finally, his laughter died off to chuckles as he said, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Clark smiled back at this man, this wonderful, amazing, heart-stopping man, and wanted nothing more than to say, _I love you, I love you, I love you more than anyone has ever loved another person in the history of the world._ Instead, he just said, “Have you had any coffee yet?”

At _this,_ Bruce inexplicably scowled. “No, I haven’t. Ask me why, Clark.”

Now Clark was bewildered. “Uh… why?”

“Because _someone_ fucked me so hard that I can barely sit up this morning, much less walk all the way to the coffee maker,” Bruce growled.

And oh… now Clark could feel a blush of his own settling hard over his features, turning his cheeks a mottled shade of red that only made his embarrassment worse. Bruce’s scowl broke as he tried unsuccessfully to hide his grin from Clark.

“I’ll, just, ah…” Clark stuttered as he practically jumped out of their bed. “I’m so sorry, I’ll get you some right away!”

“You do that,” Bruce’s voice followed him as he practically sped out of the room, and even through his embarrassment, Clark could appreciate the sound of Bruce’s low chuckle filling the air between them.


End file.
